Written In Flames
by DewdropLotus
Summary: What others don't realize, is that Kanda Yuu has a twisted sense of humor hiding-waiting to torment a certain 'Beansprout'. Allen, is unfortunately fully aware of this and falls for it every time anyway. Collection of drabbles, humor, contemplative and introspective. AllenKandaAllen.
1. Summer

**Summer**

"Aren't you hot in that?"

"Meh."

A pair of silver eyes move over the body covered head to toe in the blanket of black that is his jacket. For a moment, he wonders if Kanda can even feel—because certainly, he has to be boiling under it. He himself is down to his undershirt with the arms rolled up. Even then, he has his collar pulled and he honestly feels like he's going to die because of the sweltering heat. There is no breeze and the humidity is very high…_Kanda has to be dying under there._ But even as the thought passes his mind, he sees that Kanda's expression is just as casual as ever. There's no break in him. Nothing to determine whether or not this was just his way of hiding that he was probably ready to be put out on a table for how well he was cooked under the long sleeved jacket.

"Augh, just looking at you is making me hotter, Kanda," he groans, fanning himself helplessly against the mugginess. All he is doing is waving hot air in his face and damn it…it isn't helping. Normally, temperature doesn't affect him like this…but his last mission had taken them to a place covered in snow. After spending a month in a winter wonderland, this is just like being tossed into an oven.

"Is that so, beansprout?"

Allen turns sharply. His partner's tone of voice sets his thoughts into another direction—slamming right into the confusion center of his brain. Did he just mishear the way Kanda's voice seemed almost amused? He has to be mistaking it. He can't understand why his statement would drag any remark or teasing from the man who had been nothing but straight faced this whole time. But sure enough, the look on Kanda's face cements what he heard. There's a pull of muscle at the corner of Kanda's mouth, dragging it into something of a smirk and Allen gapes for a second before he realizes what exactly had caused this seemingly sudden mood.

"…I…I didn't mean it like _that_." He stutters and turns his head, brushing the line of sweat from over his brow.

"Is this why you've been progressively stripping your clothes off since we were partnered?" Kanda's angular face is cast with shadows from the scorching sun and it only serves to pronounce the cruel grin that etches his features. There's a sadist in Kanda that most people don't know about, but Allen has seen wisps of him in the past—lying dormant until Allen would put his foot in his mouth and give him material to haggle him about.

Allen's bleached hair moves with the shake of his head. "N…No. Kanda, stop that," he mutters and rubs the back of his hand across his forehead. He starts to wonder if he's transparent in his discomfort. At the same time, he realizes how easy it is for Kanda to rile him up and that upsets him more. Somewhere in his mind, the thought of Kanda peeling out of that jacket does settle a different kind of heat. He grouses and starts to simply walk away before his face lights up red. "I merely meant that you must be baked Kanda casserole under it." He snaps and tries to save a little face…

"Does this mean you want to eat me?"

But…he's already done for.

"BAKANDA!"

* * *

_A/N: No, I am not starting up something new to distract me from everything else. Don't KILL ME. I'm reacquainting myself with the flow of writing. I admittedly wrote so much in the beginning, that I wrote myself tired. And now I'm building up the itch to do more. For now, this will include some of my warm up writings. Thank you to everyone who reads my shit faithfully. I read your reviews like candy and it makes me feel like I suck a little less~!_


	2. 50

**50**

There were at least fifty reasons why everything about this was wrong. There were at least thirty more that he could use to argue with the fifty, but ultimately, fifty was more than thirty and his math was never good anyway.

The two of them sat facing each other, a flicker of electricity seemed to free flow between them and there was a heavy air of deafening silence that permeated everything in existence around them. It wasn't exactly a situation of promise, namely due to religion. Also due to friends. Also due to everything they believed. Also due to everything ever.

"Fuck." His voice sounded harsh even to him and he was used to hearing the ugly words his pretty face seemed to enjoy spilling out like lava. He didn't have the patience to be as pleasant as Allen and now was not any different.

Allen took a different approach. His soft eyes seemed to speak in volumes that could fill up book and that make a shiver run up the other man's spine. It was an uncomfortable shiver and comfortable at the same time.

The space between them was small, and the moonlight cast in through the window and they both let the silence hang for a moment before Allen finally replied to his comment.

"We did that already."

* * *

_A/N: I don't even know XD_


	3. Latex

**Latex**

He wears a mask stretched tightly over his face. There are emotions that are etched into the latex fitting that seemed only intent to hide the truth. What was really going on behind the silver eyes? His mask isn't just stretched over the skin, able to be peeled away with a touch. It's skin deep. It's as if he's a porcelain doll with cellophane innards. It was perplexing and even horrifying when considering the way he seemed to smile and act like he wasn't deeply disturbed, even ruined to the core.

This didn't exactly upset Kanda, but the fakeness of it all pissed him off when the white haired boy refused to pull off the latex painting that mimicked a smile. He didn't have to lie to him. If anyone could slap that artificial grin off his stupid face, he wanted to be the one to do it. It wasn't a thing of malice, it was a thing of being against blatant liars.

Allen saw that look in his eyes, and even though he knew his pretend pleasantness pissed him off, he continued. He let it drop, however, only for the moments they were at each other's throats. It was as if every hateful word was just another paint thinner, breaking the wall he'd erected so carefully. It was perplexing both ways. Because he wasn't the only one with a latex face.

* * *

_A/N: Flash fiction I'd done in 5 minutes a while back. _


	4. Beginning

**Beginning**

In the beginning, he hated the boy. Or, perhaps hated was the wrong word—a bit strong, even for Kanda. It was more or like a subtle loathing or maybe even a silent itch of necessary avoidance that sparked between them. Whatever it was, he couldn't stand being in certain proximity with the white haired anomaly that waltzed into the Black Order and threw everyone into confusion.

His desire to avoid him only seemed to result in being thrown into the very next mission with him and the strange feeling of avoidance only strengthened. He determinedly wanted nothing to do with the falsely pleasant individual who was concerned with everything within his sight despite the greater needs. He saw Allen Walker as a Martyr type and those types had tendencies to die.

When he didn't die and actually managed to overcome his limits, Kanda was surprised. Not that he would outwardly show it, but he felt that spark touch up between them when his sword collided with the newly formed Crowned Clown and he snarled defensively—convinced that he hated the boy more than he'd ever hated him before.

The avoidance became obvious to the point where even Allen could see it. It was like Kanda's newest skills lied in hiding and that settled into an uncomfortable disturbance somewhere in Allen's gut—instinctively knowing he was responsible for some degree of it. Confrontation was never one of his favored approaches, but this was Kanda. He could meet unusual tactic with unusual tactic. Avoidance led to confrontation.

Confrontation let to accusing words and angry fists and somewhere in the flurry of irritation and insults, teeth mashed and tightened fists flattened out into exploring fingertips and desperation.

There's a fine line between love and hate, or so they say.

Sitting up, wrapped in rustled white sheets with a body curled to his left, he begins to wonder exactly where he'd drawn the line and how he'd missed taking care in staying on one side of it. The topic is a touchy one and he hopes he can avoid it better than he avoided Allen Walker.

* * *

_A/N: It's back, motherfuckers. My writing mojo is back. Prepare. _


	5. Accusation

**Accusation**

They stood side by side at the mirror. The damp air of the morning and the quiet hum of water were the only other guests in the room with them. Several feet settled between them and it still felt stifling. The problem with early missions was the awkward tension that settled between them when the two stumbled into the washroom to prepare for departure. Missions with the moyashi were the more annoying ones and it was much worse when the first thing he saw upon waking.

Shifting and trying to untangle his hair without drawing attention became a practiced art, but even so, he always found Allen's eyes on him in the reflection of the mirror. For split seconds, he laid contact and then he turned his eyes away, settled on ignoring him once more. It wasn't an unusual thing. In fact, this seemed to happen every time they were in the washroom at the same time.

"Is there something wrong that makes you keep staring at me?" He finally snapped, eye connecting again with the silver ones watching him. Neither of them turned their eyes on each other directly, merely continuing to stare through glass.

"Sorry," Allen coughed a smile and turned his face back to his own reflection.

"That's all you have to say?" It annoyed Kanda. It annoyed him more than he wanted to truly admit, because Allen was aggravatingly flighty when he wanted to be. "If my presence bothers you, then leave. I was here first."

Gray eyes crawled back across the glass, glancing passed the surface and connecting to Kanda's again. "You're quick to jump to conclusions, BaKanda. I don't have any problems."

Darker eyes narrowed and his face curled into a sour expression, "then why do you keep looking at me? It's pissing me off. If you have something to say, fucking say it. I don't need your weirdness spilling in my direction."

"There's no need to be a bitch about it, Kanda." Allen's soft eyes hardened a bit at the man's sour attitude. He hadn't been doing it to make him uncomfortable; it was just an accidental thing that happened when his personal curiosity got the better of him. He couldn't help it if Kanda was that anti-social. They never got along, but it wasn't just by his own fault. "I'm just curious sometimes."

"And this justifies you staring at me?"

"Well…" Allen started, then slipped into a moment of silence—turning the water off and moving away a bit. "I just think that if I watch you do things, I might learn a bit about you. But since that bothers you, I'll stop."

With that, Allen grabbed the towel at his right and wiped his hands of the water and began to move away. He didn't want to make Kanda angry by any means, but it seemed like it didn't take much to do just that. It was a little upsetting though. Watching the sour man had taught him a few things that words couldn't. The way he moved and his mannerisms were all painting pictures of the man that no masks could really hide. The cold, frigid exterior was barely holding the fiery personality under it. Admittedly, he wanted more of that; to see the sparks—even if in the irritated flickers of glares that passed along the glass.

He heard a mutter and his thoughts drowned it out—thinking about the way Kanda's eyes flared only when they started in on discussion. Did it really bother the man to think he might have a problem? That was what he'd assumed was the cause of Allen's gaze. Glancing up in the mirror once more, it occurred to him that he'd not actually heard what Kanda said. "Ah, I didn't hear you," he muttered awkwardly, wondering if Kanda would take that offensively.

The towel that was thrown at him gave me an indication that he'd annoyed him at the very least. Kanda was good for expressing his more basic emotions. Anger was his most hair trigger one of them. He nearly let out a sign before he hear the growl come again to his clearer ears.

"I said, I don't care what you do."

A small, but undeniable, smile snaked along Allen's lips as he watched the man storm out of the room following the repeated phrase. In his mind, he logged away another fact about Kanda and his offhanded way of giving permission.

* * *

_A/N: I should probably write more funny ones. I will do that in the future yeah. _


	6. Companion

**Companion**

He stood outside the man's door again.

This wasn't something unusual for him and yet, he never had the nerve to walk in, or even knock. Which, all things considered, it was a little amusing; since he and that very man had long since breeched what it meant to be companions and had become something a lot more sinful. Allen's infatuation was no secret either and he'd been told countless times not to stand outside Kanda's door. It had gotten to the point where Allen was standing on the wall by his door to avoid his shadow being seen under the crack of the door.

He couldn't actually explain why he even did it. It was just a thing that made him feel better. To have Kanda close enough that he could get to him within seconds. That seemed to piss Kanda off, for whatever reason. The long-haired Asian man had scolded him harshly about leaving him to his privacy. Allen wanted to give him that, but he wanted to be close to him as well. It was a horrible combination of wanting and not being given.

The lingering wouldn't be for long. In fact, he would make it look like he was just passing through and at the first sign of another person he would be gone. He made certain to be absolutely silent and give no impression to the man inside the room that he was even in there. It was actually a little pathetic he admitted.

Stirring in the room made him turn his head. Kanda was usually sleeping around this time, when he was back from missions and not busy with any other stupid thing Komui would demand of him. So the sounds from within grabbed his attention. 'Is he awake?'

"Hnnn…"

His ears perked and he leaned closer to the wall at the _noise_ coming from Kanda. The man was usually silent, making no unneeded noises and it was easy to even mistake him for not being in his room at all. But the noise he heard was without a doubt from Kanda. He's actually heard sounds similar to that before in…other situations. His imagination jumped a bit at the next noise that filtered through the wooden slat of a door. It was a bit louder and accompanied by the creak of bed springs that he was also familiar with.

'…Wait.'

The mattress dipped in that way that caused the spring toward the back to grind low. If his face wasn't pressed near into the wall, he might have even missed the sound. The way his bed sat, caused forward motions to make it sing unpleasantly. Which was why they'd usually either pulled it off the wall or…utilized it sideways. "Ahhnn…."

That sound again…what the hell was he doing? Was he dreaming? No…Kanda's dreams never turned vocal like that. In the times he had woken to Kanda's dreaming, he usually found the man doing the opposite of making noise like that. Those situations, he'd had to remind Kanda how breathing worked. This…was showing he was perfectly aware of breathing. The soft breathy pants he was beginning to hear made his face hotter. His mind painted a perfect picture of what was usually going on with those sounds.

The images snapped out of his mind when he heard muffled words, low and almost _needy_ sounding and it hadn't occurred to him until then that Kanda might not actually be alone. It sent a cold chill down his spine when he heard more words, clear enough to hear; "Uhng…yes….there…."

His heart sunk in his chest for a moment, aching at the very idea that Kanda had pushed him away, possibly because he was busy with other things when he was away from Allen. That…bastard… His teeth grit and a different emotion covered up his growing hurt, bubbling to the surface with every other groan he heard and the screeching of bed springs—springs that didn't make that noise without full rocking of the bed.

That mother fucker…

He tried to will himself to walk away. To turn his back on it and just forget it ever happened, but the part of him that wanted to be the only one touching Kanda and making that man make those noises, overtook him and he turned his whole body toward the door. It didn't matter if it was locked; he fixed that quickly with the aid of Crown Belt slipping into the lock and unarming it. Throwing the door open, he stepped in and braced to have to fight.

"Kanda, you—…." His chest deflated and his shouldered dropped, standing in the half open door…staring at just Kanda. But…what?

The dark haired pain in his ass looked at him—upside down—from the bed. He was lying on his back, near in the middle of the bed with his legs up—settled on the wall. "Hnnng….ahhh. Harder…" He continued, making a bland face at the now flustered teen. In addition to the embarrassing noises he was letting slip off his tongue, his feet pressed the brick, sliding his bed enough to make the springs cry.

"…Y…you…you…" Allen's voice hitched in his throat as he watched Kanda's legs moving the bed frame against the wall. It was hypnotic how he his body created an illusion out of something that was not really as sexual as he was making it sound.

"I knew you were still standing outside of my fucking room," Kanda finally spoke with bored clarity.

"So you decided to make me think you were in here doing _things_?!" A growl nearly escaped the younger man's mouth and he slammed the door closed behind him. He was now agitated that he'd been tricked in such a way…to think Kanda was in here…possibly with someone else…

"You trust me that little, moyashi?"

"No…that's not…I…" Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes and recovered from his bout of awkwardness. Kanda was not going to play that one on him and make him feel guilty this time. That was a dirty trick that would make _anyone_ question it. He stalked closer, hand absently moving to fabric tied around his neck—loosening it and pulling it from his neck.

He stared down over the man who was still laid back on the bed. Those dark eyes looked up at him, questioning.

"…Kanda, you want to make those noises…I'll give you a reason to make those noises."

Kanda moved to make something of a protest but Allen was already looming over him, Crown Belt curling around his limps and clamping them together. The evil look glistened in Allen's eyes. He was just unsettled enough to be a little…outrageous and his hands agreed with his mental state.

"…Ah…Hey, fuckin….moyashi-…hng…a…aah…"

That will teach Kanda to make him worried for _nothing_.

* * *

_A/N: There goes Kanda, being a teasing bastard. _


	7. Restless

**Restless **

It isn't often that he feels this unsettled. The jittery, anxious feeling that crawls up his arms is making him stagger and twitch—losing the concentration that he normally maintains solidly. His training, usually smooth, is a catastrophe and he's already thrown off the blindfold for lack of ability to keep himself settled enough to not dance around the wood grounds like a bull in a China shop.

That fact annoys him. Even as the steady slice of Mugen through the air brings him back to his rigorous exercise, he can't shake the restlessness that's clamoring around and making him feel like he needs an herbal tea and bath just to keep his blood from racing through him like he needs to run a marathon. For what it was worth, he's probably moved enough to have outworked what he would have done in running a marathon.

The cool breeze over the damp air has kept him cool, but he can still feel a cold trail a sweat down his back. It's at least two in the morning and he's one of the very few outside of the compound. He only knows of one other person outside, but he's not going to say for certain there aren't others.

What he does know, though, is that there is only one other person in the same section as him. His senses, heightened by years of meditative training and staying in tuned with his surroundings, alert him that he's not even the only person within the immediate area. It's not a physical feeling, but more of a mental intuition. Like eyes are on him; watching him and following his motions.

And it's setting him off in a way that annoys him to the point of frustration.

However, he's somewhat thankful.

Because from what he's gathered, with every pull of muscle and stretch of limbs—taking in his surroundings in the disguise of a workout—Allen Walker has no idea that he is perfectly aware that the boy is watching him.

It makes it easier to accept that he's a complete wreck.

* * *

_A/N: Kanda is such an awkward duck._


	8. Snowflake

**Snowflake**

It's been raining, sleeting, snowing and every other cold weather verb he can attach to it. It's not necessarily a thing he dislikes, though he'll not smile and chatter happily about it. Of course, that could be because he doesn't smile and chatter at all. He leaves that to his mission companion—who can seem to find happy thoughts about anything and everything. He really doesn't care about the happy thoughts; he just wants the realism that he can believe in.

"Kanda, it's snowing again!"

_Great, _he mutters and keeps walking, boots wet from the frost and cold because of the subarctic weather. "I don't care."

Allen face scrunches up at Kanda's soured tone of voice and he steps quicker to match gait with the longer legged exorcist. "You know, you could really try to be less than unpleasant all the time."

"I'll pass." The snow flickers down now and he wants to be out of it. His dark hair is flecked with icy flakes and he hates how it makes his hair wet. On second thought, he thinks he hates the snow after all.

"Yeesh, Kanda…If you were nice to people, you'd get anything you wanted," Allen mutters and brushes his jacket a bit before tucking Timcanpy comfortably within it. Gray eyes cast over to the annoyed man next to him and he nearly lets a sigh escape.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Kanda's tone is bitter and directed with a swordsman's cut. It was as if it was simply his nature to be so terse.

"Why must you be defensive about everything?" The question comes back, but he's already brushed it aside in favor of focus over the flake dropping down into his open hand—melting as they touched the warm skin of his good hand. "Did you know that no two snowflakes are alike? They're all unique, even if you can't tell. Like people are," he chatters and notices only after a moment that Kanda's in the process of moving on without him.

"That's ridiculous. People aren't individual. That's just something they tell children to make them feel like their lives are worth a shit. We're instantly replaceable and permanently forgotten." Shaking his head, the long strands of hair spill over his shoulder—left down for the sake of shielding from the cold breeze. He walks on, no longer feeling it necessary to be part of this discussion.

"Kanda," Allen's voice is behind him, calling out at his back and fighting with the wind and snow for attention. "Just because everyone as a whole doesn't see each person as unique, doesn't mean we're not. Just like snow. When you look off into the distance, it all looks like a blanket of white that may as well be bland and unspecial. But when you see each flake fall into your hand and you can see them for how special they are, they become one of a kind," he says and he smiles, because he really feels that way.

"In our world, moyashi, the sun never stops burning enough for the _snow_ to fall."

"Well, I don't agree." Watching Kanda, he follows him, moving his legs and placing his feet one after the other in the sunken tracks left by Kanda's shoes. "Because I've never seen another _snowflake_ like you before."

Kanda stops just briefly. Not even a second in action and it goes unnoticed by Allen, but he does none the less. Shaking it off, he continues to walk, letting the words slide off and melt into the rest of the snow on his skin. It's not important. People are replaceable and none of them ultimately matter. He isn't special and he will die forgotten.

But still, he quietly opens his hand in front of him.

And watches the flakes fall into it.


	9. Haze

**Haze**

You stand there at the ledge, staring down at the dark abyss below and somewhere in your mind, you're wondering if the drop would kill you enough to make it permanent. But sadly, you know it's not. You've probably already tried haven't you? Things haunt you and memories creep into your mind and settle there until you're swirling in a fog that you can't seem to escape. You want to. You clearly want to.

You look at me, with hate in your eyes—glossy and built up like you mean it—when you know you don't. It's something you give everyone and they don't know the difference, so you run with it. It kills you that I see through your glass disguise—but let's face it, you aren't really that good of a liar. In fact, you know you're probably more transparent to a person like me than you ever wish to be.

That pisses you off too doesn't it? You curse and you send me threats in the way you move. Everything you do is a threat to me. There's a lack of comprehension in your eyes for the extent of the damage you do to me. You're an infection and you've spread to every part of me until I'm enamored with you and hopeless. So now, I watch you. Everything you so and every little twitch in your façade is open to my analytic gaze.

The ledge is close at your feet and I watch you move—wanting to go forward—but you move back and drop to the solid floor and you simply walk away. How many times have you done this, Kanda? The thoughts are sitting there, etching into your brain and I can even see the scream settling on the tip of your tongue, begging for you to let it free. The agony buried in your muscles has always been waiting to come alive and you've simply balanced until the time when you'd finally lose control and shatter the eerie calm you have on the outside of you.

I stand behind you, watching you in the splintered mirror—but you can't actually see me. The blood pooling in your eyes and the blurring of your vision have left you blind to everything around you. As you mutilate your face so you don't have to see it anymore, you wonder how long it will last this time. Will you leave the washroom immaculate again?

Probably.

You always do.

Those two feet always drag you back, where you'll pretend that none of this happened and that you didn't try to kill the creature that stares back at you in the mirror. That you didn't try to erase the face that haunts your every reflection. No one can see the self loathing that you harbor as hard as you do. No one notices when you return that you'll have spots of blood still in your shirt. You know they see it as just another thing that happens when you come back from a battle. But you're not coming back from a mission this time.

The battle is all with you. You've turned into your own evil spirit and you've tried to find your own salvation. But it's obvious you're only doomed to failure.

And I just wish you would turn around. I wish you would wash the blood from your eyes and see what's been following your dark moments; silently standing in your shadow just in case you do push too far. I wish you'd notice the life jacket always ready to save you from sinking. Please. Please Kanda.

Just turn around.

You can't see it yet. It's a blind disease of mistrust or disbelief. You don't believe you're worth anyone's time, love, and energy. You're caught in a cloud, distancing you from me and I'm begging you.

Please turn around.

And notice me here.


	10. Flame

**Flame**

They flickered around each other, basking under the heat of denial and watching each other—wondering who was going to bring it about first. Neither one of them was willing to settle his pride for the sake of admitting that whatever animosity they had between them had possibly shifted into something else. It was too difficult to admit that the fiery battle they'd laid down at their feet was slowly crumbling in the ashes and rising like a bird of flame into something of a different blaze.

Kanda's eyes held the solid coldness of a frigid winter and Allen's eyes were the softly glinting light of that winter's sun. It was melting the ice and setting fire to the unusually stoic man. Every motion had become lit by a burning desire to succeed and do it with a swiftness that would leave Allen Walker in his smoke trail.

But somewhere, it had become something different; a wild fire out of control, until his body was singing with molten passion. His steps were quicker, more fluid and he moved with the desire to fight for more than his obligation. When this had happened, he hadn't known. Allen hadn't known either. They were dancing the bonfire they'd set in their own dissonance.

Dark hair flashed about in the sparks of burning wood. The chapel around him crumbled as they danced. He fought for no one, but he was fighting for _him_. His sword left his enemies shattered and the fell to a backdrop of fire and brimstone.

"**Get up, beansprout**."

His voice was nearly lost to the explosions closing in on them. The hell they were attempting escape from was falling around them, trapping them in an inferno and there was no way to escape as they were. There was no way to carry him and leave without being caught in the fray. Volcanic fury kept his blade moving, even as his lung filled with thick smoke. If Allen could get up, they he could lead them out. He could fight the shots raining down on them.

He could blanket the death coming down, if Allen could move.

"**Beansprout. Come on, you little fucker.**" His voice howled above the roaring fire that was inching closer. Desperation was simmering under his collar, making him sweat with a sudden concern and possible fear that they were not going to get out of it, if Allen didn't wake up from the tremor that shot them into the lower levels of the destroyed building.

Fingers of the fallen form twitched, hearing the sounds of screams and boiling heat licking his limbs. He felt like he was choking, lying in a pool of heavy smoke. Everything felt heavy and he could barely make sense of his surroundings. But he hear a voice and he tried to clear his head for it.

"**Wake up, mother fucker. Wake up. If you fucking die here, I will _hate you_ for real.**"

He felt a spark light in his chest and he forced his eyes open, needing to respond—begging his body to move. The will to fight simmer until it boiled and he reached for Kanda.

He couldn't be left alone in the ashes this time, he'd burn beside Kanda.


	11. Evulse

**Evulse**

"Beansprout," he'll grunt when those hands start to pull his hair. The long strands will be dipped in the water and lathered with soap. He'll lean forward as the person behind settles and he'll fold his arms in his usually disgruntled fashion. He won't want to express his irritation, because he won't want this other person believing he's a pansy for the protesting he would otherwise do if he wouldn't be holding it in.

However, his partner will lack the gentleness and he'll start to feel the hair burning at the roots—threatening to pull loose. Teeth will dig into his lower lip and he'll move his head with every pull to ease the tension from the actions of his mate.

"What's wrong?" The boy will whispers in his ear and he'll swallow his protest before he can say it. Allen's attempt to be gentle will fail, but he'll let it and boil in the discomfort until the younger male is done seeding his fingers through the long clean locks.

"Nothing," the words will come out muddy and he'll turn his head back to his lap, where he'll fold his hands together—wincing with every pull against his head. He'll itch to tell him that he's being too forceful and he'll want to clarify that there's no need to pull so hard either—but he'll just exhale and wait for the soap to run through the strands. He'll twitch and think about how unsettlingly skittish he's being. The clumsy fingers—trying to be kind and partake of an intimate experience—will place him at an intersection between feeling like he'll look ridiculously weak and feeling agitated.

"Are you sure?" The pale-haired boy will ask, before leaning close and breathing against the other's ear. "Because I know you're just biting your tongue while I pull all your hair out."

"Wha…" He'll stammer—turning his head with a swift motion. "What do you mean you…You've been doing that on purpose?"

"I've been trying to see how long it'll take for you to make some noise about it. I think it's cute that you'd let me just yank on your hair, instead of telling me to stop," Allen will smile, fingering the edges of Kanda's hair lightly.

Kanda's shoulder will tremor and he'll make an irritable face before he'll push the younger partner away—standing up with a tick in his nerves. "You little shitface. See if I let you have stupid moments like this again!"

Allen'll just laugh, even as Kanda will stomp across the bathhouse—putting distance between them. He'll come back sooner than later and Allen will pick up where he left off.

* * *

_A/N: I wanted to experiment and see if I could write in future tense. It's a little strange. _


	12. Silence

**Silence**

The sheets were light over clean bodies, bathing the two forms with a thin layer of cool comfort. The mattress whined as one body turned, rolling to face the other—warm, smooth skin caressing as each person exhaled into the crisp air of the night. Lips grazed against a flushed neck and a soft noise filtered into the air. Pleasant whispers of approval pressed like a feather to the other's ear—saying nothing, but humming everything.

No words needed to be spoken and neither needed to press this further. Dark hair splayed across the pillows while a pair of hands brushed mismatched fingers through the silky locks. They existed to clash—to collide and spark—and even here, where their silence called a truce, they trembled at each other's fingertips for passion. The heat of their bodies wasn't overwhelming, but enough to keep the chilled air from sliding between them.

They didn't need to claim each other's bodies to claim each other wholly. When the wind shifted they'd both be gone and that scene would too; but for the moment, they remained entwined in the silence of the dream.


	13. Chores

**Chores**

Allen stepped through the door with keys jingling and a case of water balancing on his shoulder. The several bags dangling from his arms were full of assorted groceries that they'd need for the weekend. Perhaps later they could venture out and do real shopping; but for now, the basic necessities were enough. He finagled the items through the door and kicked it shut with his foot, dragging the bags to the table where he'd sort them out to be put away.

Moving into the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of the trash can and made a face. That had been the one thing he'd asked Kanda to do today—since this barbecue was his idea and Kanda hadn't even wanted a part of it. All he wanted was for the trash to be collected and taken out so that it would just be a matter of cleaning up a few loose odds and ends. Their apartment didn't need to look spotless, just suitable for guests. When he left, he knew for sure it wasn't suitable for anyone other than the two of them—who had habits of sitting in the living room eating ramen noodles in their boxers and leaving the leftovers on the coffee table while they got frisky on the couch. These sorts of messes tended to build up and there had been clothes all over the place and food trays left on multiple different surfaces.

He was annoyed, just a bit. It wasn't like he'd asked a huge thing of him and while Kanda wasn't expected to participate in the barbecue, he still had to be there for it. "Damn it, Kanda," Allen grunted and pulled chips from a bag and threw them on the counter. Hamburger buns, hot dog buns, assorted condiments, and the necessary meats to go with them, were all tossed to the counter and staged for quick access. The plastic bags from the store were crumpled up and shoved into the little fabric pouch that saved them for when they needed bags.

Standing by the refrigerator, he contemplated just ignoring it. He could just take it out and deal with Kanda's obliviousness later—because Kanda wouldn't know why he was mad if he didn't spell it out. But was it worth it? With a dejected sigh, he pulled the trash bag and tugged it out of the can until he could easily tie the full bag. With a jerk, he had it out of the can on set on the floor so he could place another one in before he left. If he didn't do it now, he'd forget the bag part and end up hosing out the can later—like last time.

The bag dragged a bit and he was at least thankful they both were sensible enough to not put any liquids in it—or he'd be cleaning the floor too. Stepping through the opening to the living room, he opened his mouth to announce that he was taking the trash out—maybe being a little bitter about it—but he stopped. The bag sagged to the floor and he looked around.

Kanda, his annoyance of the moment, was laying face down on the couch—with his legs bent up—sound asleep. Under some circumstances, Allen would be mad about it. He knew there would be people coming, but he couldn't find himself to be mad about it since the living room looked damn near spotless. From where he was, he could even see the clean glistening of a freshly wiped down TV screen. The fans were both on and a window was drawn open to circulate the clean air and get the dust he'd moved around out. The table was clean and even stacked with a few magazines. Coaster—the ones he bought yesterday—were placed by every seat. The floor was obviously vacuumed and swept where it needed. No trash, dishes, left over drinks, clothes or other assorted things guests shouldn't see were left out.

Allen walked around, inundated with suspicion. Something had to be amiss for Kanda to just up and clean the house after the brief bickering over a trash can. The light to the bathroom flicked on and Allen stuck his head in. It was clean too. What the hell? Spinning right around, Allen slipped into their room—expecting a mess—but what he found was a freshly made bed, clean floors and all the laundry put away. Allen was more than confused he was a strange kind of agitation that came from when Kanda would like to mess with his head. He'd grumbled about taking trash out, but cleaned the house while he was shopping. He'd obviously rushed about doing it too, because Allen was only gone on his errands for maybe two hours at most.

Still, even if he felt like he was being teased by Kanda, he did appreciate it. The trash seemed a little insignificant now and Allen sneaked back into the living room to the side of the couch where Kanda was. Kanda was sleeping fairly hard from what he could tell. The man was so much more pleasant in his sleep—was the sad thing—and the way his hair spilled off the cushion was really attractive to him. Allen kneeled by him and inched closer until he could sneak his lips right up to Kanda's pale cheek—kissing under his eye and drawing fingers through silky black hair. "Thank you, asshole," he whispered and turned, readying himself to get back up and take care of the kitchen.

A gurgling yelp passed Allen's lips before he was aware he did it and he spun back around on his heel—eyes shooting down instantly. Kanda's eyes were still closed but there was the signs of a stupid cheeky grin that Allen would always use on _him_. What an asshole! "You."

"Hmm," Kanda murmured, hand still lingering in the air and poised in the came position it had been when he'd copped a very feisty feel on Allen's backside. "I'll have a side of beansprouts and rice, please."

"I…You…augh, I'm done with you," Allen threw his hands up and proceeded on to the kitchen and out of Kanda's range. For the nice thing he did, he still was a little _shit. _

Still, Allen couldn't help but feel better about earlier—he picked up the trashbag before making it back to the kitchen and took it outside—dumping it into the outside container. Either Kanda really really hated taking the trash out or he really really wanted to get laid. Or probably both.

Lucky for him, Allen was easily appeased.

* * *

_A/N: A rare AU from me written for a friend, Bri, who wanted some domestic Yullen! Hope you enjoyed. _


	14. Transmission

**Transmission **

You slipped into the room as the shadows bounced along lifeless walls and closed in on a dark door. The cold metal of the doorknob turned with scraping protest—frozen and unused, but by the single figure behind the the heavy wooden barrier. The quiet click of the door coming in against your back was the only sound to follow, but the other person was more than aware of your presence.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He snapped, looking up from the bed, where he flattened himself against the wall and basked in the light pouring in from the outside—a sultry mixture of moonlight and artificial luminescence.

Kanda. That was his name. A harsh sound that eased into a simple syllable, flowing from the tongue with a grunt before it devolved into a strong, yet placid sound. Somehow, very fitting to the man before you. The ugly hiss was intended to mask an easier interior that you'd gotten the wispy glances of—though, surely it would be a denied quality.

"I thought this was someone else's room," you lied, and fairly blatantly at that.

Kanda noticed—and expressed it just as blatantly. "Bullshit." Despite the darkness, you could see Kanda's fine features and distinctive expressions. He wasn't as angry as the harsh sounds of his voice suggested. Much like his name, his words were made to sound like a cut—jagged and rough at first, but smooth and precise as they flowed. "Where is your dog? I was under the impression he wasn't allowed to be out of ass-sniffing range. To make sure you don't shit anything but roses."

He was vulgar, but you found it strangely refreshing. Others were too polite and too restrained. Thinking that—of course—made you somewhat of a hypocrite, but you felt it just the same. Your experiences and your past were complicated and your forced politeness had become a defensive barrier. But Kanda—vulgar, angry and deadly beautiful Kanda—was different. He was capable of unravelling you with a few short words and pulling you back down to remember tiny details you'd forgotten in your absolute need to save face.

"I'm capable of shrugging him off, you know. You're not the only one who can run away." A cold stab and Kanda stiffened.

"Well, run away to someone who gives a shit about you."

You were silent for a moment before you stepped more surely into the room. He did not move, just like you knew he wouldn't. His eyes just followed you until he was staring right up at you as you stood over the edge of his bed. His voice, an echo in your mind, pulled you back once…twice…perhaps more. From your first meeting you clashed and settled wrong, but he seemed to breach some wall and anchored you when your flighty—sometimes unwilling—mind got carried away with itself. "If you don't give a shit, then my presence shouldn't bother you if I don't say a word." Faulty logic, of course, but it was Allen Walker Brand desperation for company of the only other person—aside from your deceased mentor—who was willing to be straight with you. He was someone who wasn't going to tip toe. He was someone who wasn't afraid to offend you or afraid of you at all.

"Whatever," he just grunted and closed his eyes. He didn't have to speak the words to tell you to sit down and shut up. And that was why you came here. The quiet presence of harsh Kanda was comforting to your chaotic mind. He didn't care about you—but what he was really saying, was that he didn't care to place you above what you were. He wasn't going to walk thin ice because of what mystery shrouded you.

He didn't care that you were dangerous—a Noah—he already knew that the person climbing into the bed and leaning against the very same wall was a boy named Allen Walker— an idiot kid with a martyr complex that he hated for his painfully similar—yet inverted—sense of harshness. You were gentle, but jagged inside.

You cared for his kindness on the outside; but beyond the surface, you wanted the brutal honesty that could hurt a softer person—you liked that he brought you down. You went to him, to ground yourself.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"I said no talking."

He hadn't actually, but you couldn't deny his claim. He spoke to you outside of mixed sounds—uttered with the intention of conveying messages. He spoke on a level that was a gift you wouldn't forget. He spoke at a frequency that only you could hear.

You hoped, closing your eyes, that one day he'd listen to the same crackling transmission coming back that offered the same comfort. You were there to bring him back, should he ever need to be grounded himself. You didn't need him to thank you—you just wanted to be the same to him as he was to you.

* * *

_A/N: Pretty much my feelings on Allen and Kanda prior to Alma arc. _


End file.
